the stars shine down on us
by cheadsearc
Summary: where harry and hermione board the unsinkable ship of everyone's dreams and discover that love can be discovered even in the middle of a tragedy :: unsaid feelings on the titanic :: harry x hermione :: titanic!au :: for the houses competition and qlfc


**written for the houses competition, year two, round one, and the qlfc training camp**

 **word count:** 2993

 **chracters:** harry potter, hermione granger, ron weasley, lily potter

 _ **the houses competition:**_

 **house:** ravenclaw

 **story type:** themed

 **prompts:** pink

 _ **qlfc training camp:**_

 **position:** seeker

 **team:** the penzance pegai

 **prompt:** write about the destruction of a vessel or an aircraft (eg. the sinking of the titanic)

 **a huge thank you to the lovely AJ (nottheonlyfangirl) for beta'ing this story!**

* * *

 _ **the stars shine down on us tonight**_

 _word count: 2993_

* * *

 _April 11, 1912_

When he sees her on the deck of the unsinkable ship, clutching a glass of ice-cold wine and standing with a disappointed frown on her face, Harry is pleasantly surprised. Her face is framed with unruly curls of chocolate brown hair and her face seems to glow ethereally in the moonlight. She seems out of place, in her beautiful evening gown and perfect stature.

To Harry, she belongs in the elegant drawing room where he met her, rendered speechless by her brilliant eyes and determined speech. The older generation of the upper class society hated her views. But Harry? He couldn't help but be drawn to her.

His heart had ached at the thought that he would soon have to leave for his home in Philadelphia, never to see her infectious smile or dancing eyes again.

But here she is, in all her beauty, right in front of him.

He is not quite sure how to begin — he always feels tongue tied around her. So, he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. "Aren't you supposed to be in London?"

She startles out of her reverie, and her surprised eyes slip towards him, holding him captive in their warm chocolate depths. "Harry! That's to say — Mr Potter, what a pleasant surprise! I didn't expect you to be here." She pauses, tapping her finger against her chin. "But of course, that was silly of me. You _were_ heading back to Philadelphia, and I know that your mother wouldn't have anything less than the _Titanic_ to take her there."

Harry rolls his eyes fondly, thinking of his mother's excitement on being a part of the maiden voyage of the ship. "Yes, she was rather insistent that we travel back in the _Titanic_ rather than any other ship. I don't think anyone was half as excited as Mother." He chuckles. "But I must ask the same question of you, Ms Granger. I was rather surprised to find you here."

Her smile is quickly replaced by a frown and Harry's surprised. He has never seen Hermione Granger frowning before.

"Is everything alright? You seem rather — angry."

Her face rearranges itself into a happy facade. "Yes, of course." She stares out into the gently lapping water, as she sighs. "It's just that… There _are_ some things troubling me. And they don't seem to want to let me go."

For a moment, Harry thinks he's seen the glisten of tears in her eyes, but she turns and smiles at him and the illusion is gone.

"Well, if you do need anyone to talk to, I am here." He assures her with a smile.

She reciprocates it with a bright grin of her own. "Thank you, Harry." She pauses for a moment and the only sounds are the icy water against the ship and the distant sound of laughter and small talk. "Well, I must be going then. Mrs Weasley will be looking for me."

 _Mrs Weasley?_ Harry puzzles over the name she mentioned as she waves her goodbye and makes her way back to the dining room.

Hermione Granger is more of a mystery than he originally had thought.

* * *

 _April 12, 1912_

The next time he sees her is on the sunny Promenade, with a red-haired man he doesn't know. She is wearing a light pink dress which resembles the colour of her cheeks when she blushes. And those matching rosy-pink earrings… they look very familiar — _he_ gifted them to her. His smile widens at the thought.

He picks his way through the crowd to reach Hermione, smiling in greeting. "Good morning, Ms Granger," he says, smiling at her companion, be it a little hesitantly.

"Why, good morning, Mr Potter. I'm rather glad that you decided to stop by, for I wanted to introduce you to Ron here. This is Ronald Weasley, but he prefers to be called Ron. He is my fiance." Harry resists the urge to frown with shock and displeasure. "He is travelling to his family home in Massachusetts with his mother and I." She smiles up at him, and Harry ignores the painful pang in his chest.

Smiling at them, he says, "Then I believe that my congratulations are in order." Ron grins and Hermione smiles, though with a little less enthusiasm than her fiance.

 _I wonder why…_

Preferring not to dwell on such painful thoughts, he says, "Well, I must be off. Mother wanted me to escort her to one of the drawing rooms — it wouldn't do to be late. Good day, Ms Granger, Mr Weasley." They smile in acknowledgement and let him pass.

Harry doesn't miss the way Hermione's face falls once she believes that he cannot see her.

* * *

He doesn't see her at dinner, though, and he curses himself for constantly searching for her when she is clearly engaged to another man. He does, however, get to know the Ron Weasley is striking, and his talk is rather funny, especially when he's conversing with his sister, although a little harsh and unpolished.

He could imagine Hermione with him.

What bothers him the most is that Hermione never told him that she was engaged to someone when they were in London. Harry feels betrayed, somehow, after all those hours of talking about everything between the stars and the earth, chuckling behind their champagne flutes about the fluffed-up debutantes.

Perhaps he imagined that she might have wanted more than a friendship — maybe it was due to the fact that he was smitten with her from the very beginning. Harry doesn't want to know — it only served to dig the dagger deeper into his chest.

After politely enquiring after Hermione, ( _Oh, just a bout of seasickness,_ Ms Weasley assured, _nothing to worry about, really._ ) and asking if his mother is comfortable enough, he leaves, not caring for the gentlemen who request him to join them for cigars and drinks — he has no interest in their trivial talk.

He lets his feet drag him back to the deck where he saw Hermione. The wind ruffles his already messy hair and a few specks of seawater settle on his glasses.

"Well, hello again, Mr Potter." Her teasing voice greets him. "It seems that this is a favourite haunt of yours." She leans on the railing, her loose hair trailing in the wind.

"Well, yes, it does offer some peace and quiet, don't you think?" He pauses, wondering whether he should voice his troubled thoughts or not. "You never told me that you were engaged."

She flinches at that, her smile turning sour as pink dusts her cheeks. Harry always loved to see her blush — but tonight, there is embarrassment in her demeanour. "Ah, I am sorry, Harry, but Ron and I had agreed to keep it secret." She stops abruptly, as if trying to frame her next words properly. "I did appear as if I wasn't engaged in London, but there were… a few oppositions for our engagement. I couldn't do anything about it. I — I do regret not informing anyone about it now, since it lead to so many complications…"

 _So you befriended me and talked with me, made me fall in love with you — all because you couldn't reveal your engagement?_ Harry wants to ask her, but he bites his lip. It wouldn't be wise to reveal that to her. Not now at least.

"You're still wearing those earrings I gifted you." He notices the gleaming rosy pink of the quartz and gold of the jewellery on her ears.

"I love them — I rarely wear anything else." She smiles weakly, her voice petering out when she sees Harry's blank face. "I — I'm sorry, Harry."

"It's alright, Hermione. I do understand. Congratulations, then." He smiles with an air of finality, offers her a hug and makes to leave but she whispers against his blazer, "Don't you want to know what the complication was?"

His breath catches and he's almost sure that he doesn't want to hear it but —

"I fell in love with someone else. Someone who is much better a person than I am, someone whom I don't deserve." Harry is sure his heart stops because there is _no way_ that she can be talking about him…

He feels her soft lips on his cheek as she leans up and Harry's heart breaks with the number of realizations that are crashing down on him. She _does_ love him. But she is engaged to someone else — and he doesn't dare think what their vicious society might think of her if she breaks her engagement to be with _him_.

He pulls back from her gently, with a whispered apology and he's gone, trying not to hear her sobs behind him and the frantic beating of his own heart.

* * *

 _April 13, 1912_

He spends most of his time in his room, the next day, much to the surprise of his mother. She looks at him with narrowed eyes, full of curiosity when he claims that he has a lot of work to catch up on, because she _knows_ that Harry has taken care of all the estate matters before leaving England.

Her resolve finally breaks in the evening, when he refuses to attend dinner, claiming that _all that work has given him a headache_. She scoffs and plops into a chair by the sofa.

"It's that Granger girl again, isn't it?" She enquires, looking at him curiously. "You looked absolutely smitten with her in London." She glares at him disapprovingly and Harry doesn't have the energy to refute her claims.

There is silence for a few moments and Harry is thankful that his mother dropped the subject, but she starts again. "So why don't you ask for her hand?"

Harry looks at her quickly, surprised by this turn of events. Didn't she disapprove of Hermione? "Er…"

"Oh, don't make that shocked face, Harry. I may have disapproved of her first, but I do admire her for standing up for her views. And besides, she's the perfect match for you, don't you think? So, _are_ you going to ask for her hand? Or are you too much of a coward like you father and ask me to arrange a marriage between the both of you?" Her eyes are mischievous but wistful, as though she's remembering days long gone.

"I can't ask for her hand, mother." Harry sighs. "She's already engaged, to Ron Weasley."

His mother just waves a hand in dismissal. "That's a minor lapse in judgement on the poor girl's part. It does happen to everybody." His mother looks wistful again and Harry wonders if there's a story behind that. "You said it was _true love,_ yes? I'm sure she'd leave that Weasley in a heartbeat, if you just asked her." Harry gapes at his mother.

"Mother, that isn't _done_! What will people say? And what about Ron Weasley and his family? Don't you think that he might be heartbroken?"

Setting her hand on her son's shoulder, Lily says, "Harry, if you're going to care about the opinions of others, perhaps it isn't wise for you to be with her, after all. People will _always_ talk about us, Harry. People dislike that she is of the _nouveau riche_ society and has very decided opinions about how the world should be. If she is to be with you, she must break the engagement she has with Weasley. That will not work in her favour. But why do you care about what they think? I approve of her, and you _love_ her. Don't you think that's enough? And of course, Mr Weasley might be disappointed, but who's he to come in your way?"

Looking at her son compassionately, she sweeps out of his room. Harry's mind is swirling with billions of doubts and thoughts as he paces around the room.

He knows what to do now.

* * *

 _April 14, 1912_

He searches for her, everywhere, but it is as if she's disappeared from the ship. Pulling at his hair, he sits down on a chaise in the drawing room.

He bites his lip nervously, thinking of what he might say to her when he meets her. He doesn't know whether she actually _wants_ it — being with him. But he will at least try.

She isn't there at dinner too — according to Mrs Weasley, she has been ill for the past three days and prefers to take her meals in solitude.

He is nervous as he steps onto the familiar deck, to wait for the elusive Ms Granger. He is sure that she will avoid this place, since they've already met here twice, but perhaps if he's hidden in the shadows…

It's a quarter to midnight when she finally arrives. Harry's heart stops when sees her and he cautiously approaches her, watching her warily.

"We need to talk," he begins. Pursing her lips, she nods slowly. "I know that this is completely inappropriate and will probably have bad repercussions — but, I love you. I've loved you for months now, ever since London. I know that you probably won't leave Ron, but I have to at least _try."_ She opens her mouth as if to speak, but he ploughs on, "Do you love me? Would you accept my hand?" His voice is little above a whisper. He's expecting a resounding _No,_ but he suddenly feels her breath against his cheek as she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"I love you very much, Harry." She beams and he can't help but break into a grin of his own. "And yes, I do _accept your hand._ " She rolls her eyes. "Do you have to be so terribly formal?"

"My father told me once that it was how you propose to a woman." His grin dims a little. "What about Ron?"

Her face becomes pensive as she says, "I told him that I might break off the engagement soon, Weasleys are being rather cold towards me."

He moves forward to comfort her, but is interrupted by a screech — like something scraping against the side of a ship. Chips of ice litter the ground near their feet and Hermione looks up at him with alarm.

Something is _very_ wrong. Harry doesn't like the feeling of foreboding that courses through him.

"Go back, find Mother," he whispers to Hermione. She looks reluctant, but nods anyway, looking back at him as he bounds up to an officer to ask what happened. He feels the ship tilt a little as he ascends the stairs and Harry cannot help the sickening feeling in his stomach as he continues in his path.

* * *

 _April 15, 1912_

When he wakes up, he gasps for air, thinking that he might still be in the icy cold water of the Atlantic. His mother shushes him, stroking his hair gently. She looks years older and there are dark circles under her eyes.

"W-what happened?" He asks her, staring at her saddened eyes. She doesn't respond and suddenly, the memories come rushing back to him, the unsinkable ship meeting her end, him almost drowning in the ocean water before the last lifeboat could pull him out…

Harry groans as a deep pain shoots up his torso.

"Careful, darling, you broke a rib when you were swimming through the debris." His mother fusses around him for some moments, but a new question arises in his mind.

"Hermione?" he asks, his eyes pleading her to say that she did survive. _Please, let her have survived._

"She was on the survivor's list. But I didn't find her in the crowd." Her green eyes are full of worry — she doesn't want to imagine Harry's state if her name was wrongly put on the list.

"I must find her." He gasps as his body rebels against his intentions, white-hot pain coursing through him.

"Later. For now, get some rest."

* * *

 _April 18, 1912_

He is finally let out of the infirmary and spends the rest of the day searching for Hermione. Her bushy hair and beautiful smile, however, are nowhere to be seen.

 _Where could she be?_

Harry searches everywhere — in the third and second class decks, the infirmary and the first class rooms.

 _No. She must have survived._

But if she did, he would have found her by now. Harry leans against the cold wall of the deck, thinking that he couldn't have lost her just when they had some hope of being together…

"Harry?"

His breath catches. This can't be real, can it? She's _here_ , her hair matted and her smile dimmed, the pink of her cheeks lost, but she's _here_.

"Where were you?" He strokes her hair. He can't believe his luck. _They survived. It will be alright._

"I was with Mrs Weasley. She didn't survive her pneumonia." Her voice shakes and Harry holds her tighter.

"What about Ron and Ginny?"

"Ginny is here, but Ron wasn't as lucky as you, no one came back for him."

Harry sighs. Half of the first class and most of the lower classes were dead. And why? Because the ship was _unsinkable_. Harry wonders how many angry letters, including his, would reach White Star Line in a couple of days.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I wish it weren't like this." Harry suddenly feels a wave of guilt wash over him.

 _He shouldn't have survived…_

"Stop. I know that you're berating yourself — for _surviving?_ I am _so_ thankful that you survived and you're _with me._ Stop thinking that you should be dead with the others who lost their lives there." Harry nods, kissing her forehead gently.

There is silence for a small while, as they witness their arrival in New York, the flashes of the camera not quite heard over the noise of the ships.

And in those moments, with Hermione's hand held firmly in his own, Harry finally is at peace.

* * *

 **a few notes: i've tried to keep the language true to that period. harry and hermione both belong to the upper echelons of the society - otherwise neither of them would've survived. i did consider making hermione or harry of a lower class for all that angst... but i was feeling particularly benevolent so... don't worry, there are plenty of angsty stories coming your way. ;)**


End file.
